


Treading Water

by nirejseki



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, M/M, spoilers for Flash 2.21, spoilers for LOT 1.15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:53:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6892747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fact that most people do not know about Leonard Snart: he can’t swim.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Response to this tumblr prompt: Coldflash- Barry and Cisco (using Mick's ring as a focus) try to vibe Len (who is lost in the timestream like Barry was lost in the speedforce) and bring him home</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treading Water

A fact that most people do not know about Leonard Snart: he can’t swim.

Okay, that’s not quite fair. Perhaps more accurate is that he _hates_ swimming. It’s not like there were a lot of opportunities to go splashing around in the bad side of Central, where the buildings pretended to be suburban homes but mostly ended up being trashy or abandoned for years as banks sat on old foreclosures that no one wanted to buy. There was a community pool that some do-gooder with too much money had donated once; it was invariably crowded to bursting in the summer and you had to wear shoes on the poolside to avoid burning your feet on cigarettes.

Len had never been taken there as a kid himself, just watched it longingly from the window of the bus on the way to school or to helping his dad or his dad’s friends with another job; by the time he got old enough that he could go in himself, the urge had mostly passed and the desire not to embarrass himself dominated. 

He took Lisa there religiously until it became apparent that she preferred the ice rink, but there’s a world of difference between sitting in the kiddie pool glaring at anyone who looked at them the wrong way and actual _swimming_. He learned the basics of treading water so he could teach Lisa how not to drown, but that’s about it.

This is something Len contemplates as he tries to kick his feet (?) and get his head above the surface of the water (?) – well, if the swirly green stuff was water, which he sincerely doubted. He’s not all too sure about if he has feet, for that matter. Len wasn’t really the sort of person who spent a lot of time staring out of windows, but you’d have to be blind not to realize that this was the stuff the Waverider spent a hell of a lot of time swanning through, and he’d never really gotten the impression from Rip that it was a good idea to go out there without a ship.

And yet, here he was.

Drowning in the goddamn time stream.

Len had the distinct feeling that this was all his own fault for imagining the timestream as a literal stream. Maybe if he imagined more of a slow-moving slushy Mississippi sort of thing…

He hit a bend – a rapid – and is pulled beneath the surface once more.

_If I have to sit through another violin concerto I am going to scream, Len thought to himself as he moved through the crowd at the theatre. High society in Milan had gone Vivaldi crazy since he’d visited a few years back and the publication of those godforsaken Seasons last year was really the last straw._

_Len inclined his head towards one of the ladies as he sidled through the crowd in search for a drink. He wasn’t much of a musician – not at all, in fact – but it seemed nowadays that if you wanted to get anything done, you had to do business at the opera. At least it wasn’t going to be another pastoral drama. He hoped._

_All he wanted to do was build a few buildings, maybe a nice church or two; he far preferred to be out there, overseeing the quarries for the marble and snapping instructions to the builders, than to be here listening to over-powdered women titter at each other._

_At least the current fashion showed off his legs. If he had to try to win patrons based on his personality alone, he’d have gone nuts._

_An old instinct had him check his pockets; he’d lifted three other purses on his way through the crowd, all unknowing – he really needed to figure out where this disturbing predilection for subconscious theft came from –_

Len wrenched himself out of the rapid with an effort. Thief, thief, the reason you steal things is because you’re a _thief_ , he reminds himself. You do not walk around in a powdered wig and scandalously tight breeches and flirt with rich women and their husbands to get your buildings built. You rob ATMs.

Treading water isn’t helping, especially now that he can’t kick to support himself and his arms are starting to hurt. There’s no forward or back – or up or down, for that matter – all he knows is that he’s stuck and he’s drowning and eventually he’s going to get too tired to keep afloat and find himself stuck somewhere in the past. Or future. Or whatever.

He doesn’t know when that’ll happen. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s _been_ here.

Hell, he doesn’t even know how he _got_ here. He’s so tired. Maybe he _is_ some blithering architect on the search for cash in the 1720s and he should just accept that.

Maybe it would help if he tried to go with the flow of the river, let it sweep him down instead of fighting it – 

There’s a wave coming straight at him.

What the flying fuck – 

Steams don’t have goddamn waves – 

He goes under.

_“You’re not actually serious, are you?” Len asked skeptically from where he was buried inside the guts of Eobard’s latest ‘creation’. “Time travel?”_

_“Why not?” Eobard laughs – a grating, hacking sound, not unlike his more traditional cousins over in City Hall. Of course, Eobard is the eccentric one of the family; forgivable in such a prestigious and well-regarded clan._

_Still a weirdo, as far as Len’s concerned._

_“After all,” Eobard says. “The Time Masters do it –”_

_“Have you ever actually met a Time Master, other than that scurrilous Rip Hunter fellow you keep mentioning?” Len says skeptically. “I don’t know about you, but I personally wouldn’t trust my safety in time travel to a man you had_ thrown in prison _…”_

_Eobard scoffs. “On the contrary,” he says, crossing his arms. “That’s precisely when you can trust them. They have nothing else to lose…say, are you almost done with that?”_

_Len gritted his teeth. “I’m working on it,” he says testily. “It’s not like you called me here for a basic spit-and-fix for one of your kitchen appliances – even though I distinctly remember that that’s what the contract said you wanted –”_

_“Mechanics are mechanics; it’s all interchangeable,” Eobard says dismissively. “You had excellent reviews, though they did specifically mention your unfortunately tendency to speak your mind – don’t think I won’t have you taken out back and beaten if you keep up with this backtalk–”_

_Len wasn’t much impressed. Felons didn’t have rights in 2193, so it wasn’t necessarily an idle threat, but Eobard had more or less kept Len on permanent retainer from his owner corporation ever since Len had managed to fix the machine designed to give Eobard access to the Speed Force – he wouldn’t do anything that could potentially derail his precious plans to go back in time and meet the Flash, and a serious beating probably would._

_Of all the stupid obsessions, devoting your life to wanting to meet your favorite superhero was the one of the dumbest Len’s heard yet. Who cared about the Flash…?_

Damnit, _I_ care about the Flash, Len reminded himself angrily. He’s a good man. Good enemy. Good…whatever. 

Len kicked his legs furiously, trying to get above the surface – no, wait, he was on the surface and he was heading down again, he needed to stop that. 

He really wished directions would stay constant.

Len choked on a bit of green swirl, spat it out and chuckled to himself, moving his arms around and back like he’d learned all those years ago at the local pool. “The enemy’s gate is down,” he yells at the uncaring river of time. “The enemy’s gate is goddamn _down_.”

With an effort, he made his arms and legs parallel to each other. At least he had legs. He doesn’t always have legs. Or arms. He tries not to think too hard about that.

This is how you float, right? Just lie on your back and let your body do the effort of keeping you steady.

He doesn’t remember sleeping or eating; he vaguely remembers that those are things that humans need to do, but he hasn’t needed to do them in a while. Even breathing seems optional; drowning into the timestream mostly just sticks him into different eras and he has to struggle to remember who he is and where he is or he knows he’ll be stuck there forever. But he’s so tired. It’s been so long. He’s been through – 

Through –

36 timeline jumps –

No, 43 – you have to count the times they change in the middle –

There was that one with the mass murder that he really hopes was a dream – 

Through – 

He liked the one where he had a family. Family is nice. Does he have a family? He has a family. Lisa. Lisa was family.

Family’s good.

No, wait.

Something’s missing.

He’s been through –

36 timeline jumps –

Through – 

It’s getting harder and harder to keep track of time, and he’s good at that, he’s always got the numbers in his head.

_“I'm obsessed? What about you?” a large man in suspenders is laughing at him, strange gun pointed at his face even as Len points his own gun back at him, frustration boiling in his veins. “You're usually counting the seconds, got the whole thing planned out, dotting ‘t’s, crossing ‘i's. But all you care about now is the Flash.”_

Something about that memory was missing. Something _important_.

Did he go under and not notice somehow? No, he’s still floating. He thinks he’s still floating. How long as he been floating?

He’s been through –

Through – 

36 timeline jumps –

The clock in his head isn’t ticking because there isn’t any time – 

No time

No time

No –

_“Hey, Snart!”_

_It’s the Flash – Barry – and he looks worried. Not entirely unusual. Has he come to ask for another favor?_

_Len stretches out back, casually puts his arms on the booth behind him and looks at him. Saints & Sinners, his favorite bar; hasn’t changed a day in twenty years and that’s how he likes it. The wood of the table between them is scratched but clean._

_Character, that’s what you call it when you want to say a place is stinking old and cheap but you’re still fond of it. It has character._

_“Can I help you?” he drawls._

_He wonders what Barry wants now. He can help the little frisson of excitement – fighting the Flash or helping him, it’s_ fun _, fun in a way a lot of things haven’t been for a long while. He’s missed that surge of adrenaline. Barry makes him breathless in all sorts of fun ways._

_“Do you know where you are?” Barry asks._

_Len looks around ostentatiously – of course he knows where he is, he’s basically used this place as public office space for over a decade – then gives him a droll look. “Why don’t you get to the point?” he says._

_“Uh, okay.” Barry seems weirded out for some reason. “You need to come with me.”_

_“How about no?” Len says._

_“I really am Barry, you know,” Barry says nonsensically. “I’m not the Speed Force. Or the Time Force. Is there a Time Force?”_

_“Ramon’s been making you watch Star Wars again, hasn’t he?” Len observes. “I think it’s starting to get to you.”_

_“Actually, he’s more of a Star Trek kinda guy – but that’s not relevant right now,” Barry says hastily. “Snart, you’re trapped in the timestream. You fell in when the Oculus exploded.”_

_“Uh, huh,” Len says. This is more unbelievable than usual, even for the Flash, and he makes sure his face shows every last ounce of skepticism he can muster._

_“You sacrificed yourself for the team,” Barry says earnestly. “The Waverider crew? Don’t you remember?”_

_“Self-sacrifice isn’t really my style, Barry,” Len says, feeling a strange surge of sadness at the thought of having to puncture Barry’s delusions yet again. He’s not a hero. He’s just not the type. The sooner Barry accepts that, the sooner they can face each other on open ground; Barry’s insistence that there was good in him always twisted inside of him, like he wanted to try to live up to that, but Len knows he can’t. He prides himself on being cool and collected, but he knows himself too well – the first moment of panic, and he’s back to being a terrified kid lashing out at the world. He’ll shoot and he’ll kill and he’ll do anything to save himself._

_It’s not the world’s most flattering self-portrait, but, as they say, know thyself._

_“You_ did _, though,” Barry insists, glancing behind him as if he’s on a time limit. “Okay, listen. Do you remember this?” He pulls out a ring. It’s simple, either steel or platinum; the sort of thing that would fit on a man’s pinky. It’s pretty._

_Len’s about to say he’s never seen it before in his life but if this is Barry’s way of proposing he’d really like to be taken out to dinner first, but then –_

He gasps, drowning in a river of green –

– Mick and him, pointing heat gun against cold gun; later on in the prison van he reflects on the irony that if only they’d fired at each other they would’ve found out about the guns’ weakness against each other earlier, but of course the weakness isn’t just in the guns, it’s reflected in them, him and Mick, because no matter how strong they are against other people, turning against each other renders them both useless –

That first big heist had screwed up so bad but they’d been punch-drunk and laughing and then Mick had pulled the ring out of his pocket; Mick, who is as far away from a natural pickpocket as you get, managed to snag something without Len even noticing and somehow that had been the funniest thing –

He’d left Mick the ring to remember him by – 

The Oculus exploding as he snarled his defiance into the face of the Time Masters –

It’s green everywhere and he knows he’s going to be too tired very soon, too tired to keep swimming, too tired to keep afloat –

_“Take my hand,” Barry says, one hand splayed back behind him as if he’s the last part of a chain. “Damnit, Snart – Len, Lenny, whatever. Len, take my hand. Come back. Mick’s here. Lisa’s here. Sara’s here. They want you back.”_

_Len stares at him._

_“Len,_ please _,” Barry says, almost begging. “If you don’t have to go, don’t. I know I’m supposed to accept all of life’s tragedies or whatever, but not this one, not yet. Come back. Come back to Central. Come back to_ me _. Everyone wants you to come back. I want you to come back; I don’t even know why, but I do. The world’ll be a smaller place without you there.”_

_Len hesitates – is this a dream? Is this a memory? Is he trapped in yet another time bubble, living another man’s life and thinking another man’s thoughts – is everything he truly is back out there in the endless stream of green and time? Or is this it? Is this_ his _timeline?_

_“Please, Len!” Barry cries out. “Cisco can’t hold out much longer. You have to take my hand!”_

_Len reaches out –_


End file.
